


Losing It

by Narkito



Series: It popped in my inbox: Prompts [3]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2018-12-31 03:22:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12123444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narkito/pseuds/Narkito
Summary: The shrink pauses at the doorway to shake Danny's hand, and then lets him into her office, showing him to a comfy looking chair. This won't go well, he can feel it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to anon prompt: "I wish you would write a fic where Danny goes to see a therapist". Ask and you shall receive [sorta, most of the time]. Thank you, anon!
> 
> Many thanks to my wonderful beta and friend Ilmare Ilse, who planted certain ideas in my head and now I have a back pile of ideas to write. All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> WARNING: Mental health issues. If you need to know more before reading, read the notes at the end.

The door opens and a woman well into her fifties comes out of the office.

“Detective Williams?” She asks.

“Yes, here.” He stands up, leaving behind the newspaper he had been pretending to read. The waiting room is deserted, except for the receptionist who’s still arranging stuff on her desk and pulling out files from a cabinet behind her.

The shrink pauses at the doorway to shake Danny's hand, and then lets him into her office, showing him to a comfy looking chair.

He hesitates on the way in, not a lot, just for a fraction of a second, but enough that he must actively push himself to go inside and sit down.

“So, Detective—

“Please call me Danny,” he quickly interjects as he smooths his hair back on one side, trying hard to stomp down on his nerves.

—okay, Danny, what brings you here?”

His heart stutters and then picks up its pace.

“I, umm, aren’t you going to introduce yourself or something first?” He stalls.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she blinks sluggishly at him, not in the least bothered by his comment, “it’s just that when you called this morning you were very insistent that we had to meet, today, no later than noon, and that it was an emergency. I was under the impression that you wanted to jump right in.”

He has nothing to say to that. It’s not like he can deny the call from just a couple of hours ago; he had had to wait for a reasonable hour to pick up the phone and beg for an appointment, finally getting the doctor to agree to meet him before she started official office hours.

After the silence stretches just to the edge of pressing, the woman, Dr Shapiro, starts talking again.

“My name is Francine, I’m a psychiatrist and a clinical therapist with several years of experience in dealing with traumatic experiences, brief strategic therapy, and adult psychopathology. I’ve been an HPD-recommended therapist for about ten years now. Why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself, Detect—sorry, Danny?”

He uncrosses his legs and crosses them the other way. Chewing on his lower lip and trying hard not to give in to the urge of crossing his arms tight over his chest and never letting go again.

“I think I’m losing my mind,” he says at last, just loud enough for her to hear.

She pauses, weighing his words.

“What makes you think so?”

He swallows thick. _Here it goes._

“I’m seeing things.”

Dr Shapiro gives him a questioning face and then asks him to elaborate, “how so?”

“Things, I don’t know how—I mean, I know it’s not normal, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Can you describe one of the things you’ve seen?”

Yes, he can do that.

“Lights, bright lights, of every colour I can think of, jumping at me, and…” He trails off, scooting back on his seat.

“And?” She encourages.

He clears his throat.

“Sometimes it’s more defined things.”

“Okay, what do you mean by more defined?

“Like actual shapes, you know, like—like faces?”

“Okay, so you’ve seen bright lights that come at you, and faces. Something else?”

“Not really.”

“Alright, Danny. Different question, since when?”

“Umm, about a week?”

“So, for the past seven days you’ve been seeing lights and faces.”

“Well, the faces came later. At first it was just… the lights.”

She makes a notation in her pad and offers a reassuring smile. He relaxes a bit at that. It can’t be that bad if she’s smiling, right? He clings to that idea.

“Do they scare you? Do you feel scared when you see these things?”

He chews on that one for a bit. The visions themselves don’t scare him as much as the implications of seeing them. That he’s going insane. And it makes him feel alone and isolated. Like he can’t tell anyone about it, because once they know everything will change.

It makes his chest hurt and he can’t help look the other way, trying hard to contain the wind whirl of emotions coursing through his body.

“Danny?” The doctor says with a very gentle voice, probably for the second or third time. “Danny, are you listening?” He nods, still choked up. “Are you seeing things now?”

He shakes his head, trying hard to find his voice.

“No, ma’am,” he swallows, “I’m not.”

“Okay, what happened? You look very upset.”

“I get—it’s not that I’m afraid of what I’ve seen… I’m… I’m scared of what’s going on behind it.” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to lose my job or become a burden to my children.”

“I understand, you’re very worried about what’s been going on. It’s not an average thing to happen to you, nor to most people, and it makes you wonder about your future and the effects it may have on you and those around you.”

“Yeah,” he nods, oddly relieved at being understood, even if nothing has been resolved.

“Let’s keep talking, I need to know a few more things before I can make a recommendation. Tell me, what are you doing when you see these things?”

He needs to think that one a bit.

“Sleeping—well, no, like right before I fall asleep. The first time I was more like puzzled, like I felt I had dreamt it,” he elaborates. “I sat up on my bed and looked everywhere, trying to figure out where the lights came from, you know? I figured the neighbours had done something and went back to bed. I was still rattled; it scared me, but like in the way a jump scare from a movie scares you, you know? And it happened again the next day, and then again, and then every time I closed my eyes I was worried it was going to happen again. I was already sleeping very little when it started but then I—umm… it happened at work.”

He looks up trying to figure out what the doctor’s thinking of this, of him. She scribbles on her pad and circles a word, tapping her pen twice over it.

When she looks up, she asks, “And the other times, it was as you were about to fall asleep as well?

“Yeah.”

“Except the one at—

“—at work, yes, and then in the car,” he adds, hastily, trying to be as thorough as possible with the information.

“In the car? Were you driving?”

“No, waiting for a colleague.”

She makes another annotation on her pad.

“You mentioned you were sleeping very little. Can you tell me more about that?”

“Oh, right, I—ah, I have insomnia, since I was a teenager basically. And ever since I’m in charge of my department it started acting up.”

“Acting up? How are you sleeping?”

“Well, bad, actually, pretty bad, I manage about two to four hours each day, but not in—just a handful of minutes—an hour tops, at a time.”

“And eating? You’ve been living on coffee and cigarettes I presume?”

“No, just the coffee, I don’t smoke—used to, but quit when I had my baby girl,” he answers, allowing for the faintest of smiles to show at the mention of Gracie, it is, however, accompanied by a bittersweet aftertaste.

“Oh, you have a daughter, how old is she?”

“Well, she’s not a baby anymore that’s for sure. She’s fourteen going on forty. One day she’s a sweet child, the next she’s as bitter as a sour lemon.”

She smiles broadly at that, obviously amused by his description. He smiles back, feeling himself relax against the back of his chair.

“She’s going through that phase, you know? She’s all friendship and rainbows, and then it’s boys and unfriendly classmates, and then it’s something else. Adolescence, right? Whatcha gonna do… The thing is that on top of that, her mum and I are not getting along as well as we used to, so there’s that to consider.”

“I take it you’re separated then?”

“Divorced for a little over six years, yeah.”

“Oh!” She pipes up, raising her eyebrows. “Your ex-wife and you. Have you been not getting along ever since?”

“No, no— _god no!”_ He exclaims. “Just for about half a year, we have another kid together, Charlie, he’s four now…”

“Mm,” she adjusts her glasses, “I see.”

She probably doesn’t, Danny thinks, but that’s another subject altogether, one he doesn’t feel like explaining more than he absolutely has to, and only to convey how complicated his parental role is and then move on.

“A kid I didn’t know anything about until a few months ago. He’s sick now; in hospital.” He takes a breath after saying that one out loud, and then adds, “It’s been a weird year.”

She scribbles something more and hums more to herself than to communicate something to Danny.

“How much sleep did you get on an average night, before the insomnia started bothering you again?”

He does some simple math in his head, appreciating the change of subject.

“About seven to eight hours.” He makes a so-so gesture with his right hand, taking the opportunity to adjust his trousers’ around his knee. “I get like twelve on a _really_ good day. My problem is falling asleep and then falling asleep again if I happen to wake up.”

“But from what I gathered, your average changed about a week ago.” He nods. “You weren’t having these issues, say, a month ago.” He shakes his head in response, waiting for her to go on. “What’s been going on in your life this past week then? Any changes in the pace of work?”

“Umm, no, not really, same level of insanity as usual.”

“Oh?” She sits up. “How’s that?”

“Right, I came here like a freight train and told you jack about my job, I’m sorry. Umm, you already know I came through HPD, but the thing is that I’m a senior detective for Five-0, the governor’s task force? If you’ve seen us on the news, then you know what I’m talking about.”

“Yes, yes. I have seen you, yes. Now that you say it, I’ve probably seen you giving interviews too and in the newspapers, when I get the time to read them.”

“Yup,” he pops the ‘p’, suddenly reminded of Steve and how annoyed he gets at that, “if it reeks of destruction and mayhem in Oahu, then it’s us.”

“High levels of stress, your job, then?”

 “Understatement of the century,” he snorts, amused. “For simplicity’s sake let’s go with high-stress.”

“More than high stress, then, more like what you said before; insane.”

He hesitates at that, he likes—he enjoys saying a lot of people around him (STEVE!) are insane, but is that truly a good description?

“No, more like ridiculous and chaotic. I mean, there’s still a system to all of this, the crimes, and the level of violence we deal with, we—as a team, we’re equipped for that, for sure. But ridiculous covers it pretty well.”

“Okay, you make it sound like you’ve acclimatised to that environment.”

He rubs his face, “yeah, don’t go advertising it, but I think have, I mean, _I am_ second in command after all, I’m in charge when Steve needs to step out for drills and other obligations.”

“For drills. Your boss, Steve, he’s in the military? Reserves?”

“Umm, yeah, he’s in SELRES; it’s drills one weekend a month, two weeks a year. He hasn’t been deployed to a combat zone since he switched to the Reserves, though.”

“Oh, that’s rather unheard of.”

“Yeah, he does some training here at Pearl-Hickam, every now and then, it counts as being activated, I think, I’m not sure—he rants a lot about uniform allotments, for some reason,” he gestures widely with a hand, “military rules are kinda confusing at times, Steve would be able to explain it better.”

“It’s fine, I know a bit about it, it comes with the territory. So, your direct boss is Commander McGarrett, isn’t he? I’ve heard of him before.”

“Lieutenant Commander, yes. He’s also my partner, he basically drafted me into Five-0 and we haven’t been apart since.”

“Okay, he sounds like a friend too.”

There’s a beat where a couple dozens of images and ideas cross his mind, for some reason he thinks of Steve taking him hiking and breaking his arm.

“Yeah, he is a very good friend,” he ends up saying, the helicopter lifting Steve into the sky a vivid image on his mind’s eye.

“Alright. Okay. Umm, let’s see. Usually, had you gotten your appointment through typical channels, I would’ve gotten a folder with your medical chart, since you didn’t, I need to ask about major injuries, surgeries or illnesses you’ve had in your life.”

“Oh, right. Umm, let’s see. Insomnia, which I already told you about. Several injuries on the line of duty—mostly here, since I got to Oahu. Hawaii hates me; once I got buried under an entire collapsed building, with Steve, he got us out, _fun times_ ,” he smirks and then sighs, “not so fun, was the time I was poisoned with sarin, Steve was a real trooper on that one, but it was a… a co-worker who saved me by figuring out what the poison was. Definitely no fun times in there.” He swallows introspectively, hating the way his mind works from time to time. The doctor takes the information with aplomb. “What else… umm, I ah—I’ve gotten a few concussions over time, one nasty TBI when I was twenty, before I joined the academy; I was in college then… and that’s all I can think of.” He racks his brain for more, but he came through the door exhausted already, and trying to be thorough about what’s been happening with him has depleted his energy reserves.

The doctor takes notes on her pad and links a few words between each other, writing TBI with big letters. He’s seen other doctors do that before.

“By sarin,” she starts carefully, “you mean, the actual toxic compound used for…” she trails off.

Danny smooths down his tie and scoots back into his seat.

“Yes, that would be the one, yes.”

She blinks owlishly at him, digesting that bit of information, and no question the ramifications of the existence of such a substance on the island at one time.

“Any, umm—long lasting consequences?”

“No.”

“Good,” she answers in a short sound of relief. And then moves on. “Any allergies?”

“No, not really. I used to get the sniffles around spring when I was a kid, but not anymore, I grew out of it.”

“Alright then, to summarise,” she lifts her index finger, “the job has always been stressful, this is not the first time you’re in charge; you’re second in command. You’re often left in charge at least one weekend a month and for however long Commander McGarrett needs to excuse himself.”

She waits for Danny to agree with her. He nods.  

“So,” she continues, “what changed, Danny? Why is this time so different?”

Danny bites the inside of his cheek. But before he can think of an excuse, or of something to say, she disarms him with, “Is it drugs, Danny?” She levels him with a gravely look, “I’m not here to judge, but I do need to know.”

“No!” He almost yells, immediately lowering the volume, worried about the secretary outside and what she may think. “I swear, I don’t do drugs!”

“Danny, I’m going to ask again and I expect an honest answer, this is not a place to judge you and I’m certainly not interested in playing ‘ _gotcha_ ’ with you. Are you taking drugs? Of any sort?”

“No, ma’am, I’m not. I swear.”

“Have you before?”

He rubs his hands on his thighs. “I smoked weed when I was in eighth grade, for a while,” he gushes out, “and _once_ I had to taste cocaine for a case when I was working Vice, but that was years ago. That is also the reason I worked my butt off to leave the unit. I saw what it had done to other people, and I couldn’t do it myself. Not with my wife waiting at home for me. I just couldn’t,” he finishes, heart in his throat. A drug accusation might not end his career, but it will certainly annihilate his custody arrangement of Grace and permanently bury his efforts towards getting official time with Charlie. “You have to believe me.”

She leans back into her seat, breaking eye contact and briefly contemplating the ceiling; thinking.

She purses her lips and inhales deeply before saying, “is not a matter of belief, Danny. I’m trying to understand how it is that all the sudden you started seeing things that weren’t there. Have you ever been diagnosed with anxiety or depression?”

Not exactly what he was expecting her to say, but he’s still mollified by the change of subject.

“Yeah, both actually, at different times. I have claustrophobia and tend to turn into a nervous wreck from time to time.”

“And the depression?”

“After the divorce. Back in Jersey”

“Did you receive treatment?”

“Yes. I didn’t follow through, though, I didn’t see the point, and this guy, he wanted me to take an arsenal of pills and I… I didn’t want to,” he shrugs avoiding looking her directly in the eye. “And for the ah, the anxiety, yeah; I used to carry rescue pills with me for a while, but it’s gotten better, over time, I don’t carry them anymore. I’ve been to HPD’s in-house doctor for a top-up after especially rough cases, but nothing too serious.”

“At the risk of going on a tangent,” she leans forward on her seat again, “did you happen to start experiencing panic attacks after you started smoking weed, back in eight grade?”

His mind reels in amazement, how could she _possibly_ know that? That is in fact the reason he decided pot wasn’t for him after all, no matter how cool it made him with his crowd.

“Yeah, yes. How did you _know_?” He rushes to ask.

“Too many years working this business,” she huffs, hinting at a larger story. “Some people experience panic attacks on their first use of marihuana, though they’re often described as bad trips. Point is, it tends to trigger further attacks in the future. With your history of anxiety throughout adolescence and later in adulthood, and you pinpointing the onset of insomnia in teenage years, I deduced it might have happened to you. It fit.”

He reclines against his chair letting out a puff of air, his vision greying out at the edges, he’s so tired.   

“How you doing there, Detective?”

“Please, seriously,” he recovers, “call me Danny, I can’t tell you intimate stuff and have you call me Detective. It just, it doesn’t really work for me.”

“I’m sorry, it slipped. Danny it is.”

“Thank you,” he says a bit more forcefully than intended.

There’s a beat between them and then Dr Shapiro inhales deeply, lets it go and asks again, “How you doing, Danny?”

“Honestly?”

“Please.”

“My mind’s reeling a bit.”

“It happens sometimes; you’ve said a lot to me in the past half hour, and I’ve asked a couple of tough questions, I’ve put you in the spot too.”

“Yeah—Yes.”

“Are you ready to keep going?”

“What else do you need to know?” He asks, putting on his best attitude to continue.

“Actually, Danny, I need to know what changed. I’m looking for a trigger of sorts. You said there was no change in the pace of work; it’s been chaotic, ridiculous. But that’s business as usual.”

He nods. Sure, that about sums it up.

“You were hanging in there before that; _sure_ , your work’s stressful, you probably work long hours like every other detective I know, you have a few stressors in your family life that need constant attention, but you seemed to be handling that well enough too, and then, you stopped sleeping.” She pauses for effect, for her words to sink in and either be accepted or refuted. He gestures for her to go on.  “You stopped sleeping at the same time your boss left.” He worries over his lower lip, biting and tugging, and then runs his tongue over it. “So, what’s worrying you, Danny? Why is this time so different?”

“Are you saying that—” He cuts himself off, unsure about how to go on from there. A dozen different ideas crossing his head. “I don’t—” he blabbers and then, “why?”

“I don’t know, Danny, for some reason it’s important to you, so let’s try to unravel it further, to put together some things. Hmm? What do you say?”

He deflates, knowing perfectly well what the doctor is hinting at and unable to keep up the appearances anymore.

He sniffs, crooking his nose to the side, reaching for the right words.

“There’s no naval station in Germany,” he says, smoothing the back of his hair and fumbling for a way to explain.

Dr Shapiro stills in front of him, listening with her entire body.

“Steve was asked to go do his drills in Germany, but there’s no naval station there,” he elaborates. “And he won’t tell me what’s going on. I mean, calls are always monitored, so if he’s not forthcoming with details is not that big of a deal, there’s a reason for it but... a signal? A word? Give me a code? Something! I mean, I—I don’t— _who knows_ , maybe six years without being deployed was too much, you know? Maybe they want him back for real this time; breaking in new cadets just wasn’t enough.” He sighs. “I don’t know.”

He sighs again and squeezes the back of his neck. Steve didn’t let him drive him to the airport, because it would mean being late for a meeting with the City Council on behalf of Five-0, and Steve had insisted that he was still in charge until the plane cleared United States’ airspace, ergo, he could still boss Danny around. Danny, on his part, had relented in the end, understanding that Steve’s need to be in control had been triggered for some reason and that it would be best if he let go of this one, just this once.

“Danny,” Dr Shapiro breaks his reverie, “am I to assume Commander McGarrett means a lot more to you than boss and friend?”

His eyes prickle as a deep wave of heat rolls through his body. He hasn’t even told his mother for Christ’s sake.

He nods with his eyes closed.

“How long has he been gone?”

He squeezes his own arm before answering, scouring up the last dregs of energy.

“Nineteen days.”

“When did you start thinking he was going to be redeployed?”

He huffs a wet laugh.

“It’s always nagging at the back of my mind, but this time I felt sure of it about six days in.”

“Okay, I think you’re worried that your lover is going to get deployed to a combat zone. That he could get hurt. And I get the impression you were not prepared for this. You hadn’t thought it could happen. There’s a lot of uncertainty you can handle in your line of work, but as of late, your personal life has taken some pretty serious hits and your lover not telling you what’s going on feels like the last straw.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and nods again, tightening his arms around himself, fighting to keep all buried deep inside. Much to his chagrin, he can feel a fat hot droplet run down his cheek to his chin.

“Have you told anyone? About you and…?”

“No,” he whispers, wiping tears of his chin, angry with himself.

“Is this a recent relationship?”

He shakes his head. No, it was six years in the making. True, they only put a name to it four months ago, but they’re waiting for Charlie to get out of the ICU to break the news around.

“Danny?” Dr Shapiro prods, expecting a spoken answer.

He clears his throat.

“No, it’s not umm, recent.” He clears his throat again, trying to regain his composure. “We’ve been together on and off for a while, but officially we’ve been together four months now.”

“Do you think your colleagues know you two are together?”

His lips arch into a faint smile. “Yeah, they probably do. But they have the good sense of keeping it to themselves.” Kono’s knowing smile comes to mind. “Mostly.”

“Do you think people would be glad for you? Once they hear the news?”

His mind wanders off to Kono’s worried look when he informed her this morning that he had to bail on the new case for an undisclosed appointment, and how quick she had been to ask if everything was fine with Charlie, if Danny needed something. Then Chin had offered to hold the fort for the day, just in case Danny needed to take it easy, assuming Danny’s absence had something to do with his son as well. Even Lou had invited him for dinner, on account of his partner being away, so ‘ _he wouldn’t get lonely’;_ it had been said in jest, but the sentiment was there, buried within plausible macho deniability; ‘ _I’m worried about you. You look like you haven’t slept a wink in days’_. 

“Yeah, I think they would. Yes.”

The doctor scribbles some more on her pad, reaching the end of the page and underlying a few words at the bottom. It looks definitive somehow.

“So, what now?” He asks.

“Well now, Danny, we do a couple of tests just to make sure the diagnosis is right, but I think you’re experiencing hypnagogic hallucinations. They happen when you’re in the transitional state from wakefulness to sleep. Most people that experience them see phosphenes, or bright lights that look a lot like tiny fireworks, or something like what you described as bright lights that jumped at you. People also see things such as objects they’ve been in close contact with all day long, say, putting books back on a shelf, then they see the books, and sometimes they see the books moving as if being put somewhere. In your case, detective, I believe that since you work with a lot of people, instead of books, you saw faces.”

“But I was fully awake then.”

“But were you, Danny? You’re sleep deprived; I’m thinking you’re having fits of microsleep. You’ve been sleeping less and less with each passing day, and even if you grab a few hours, you don’t really rest, you’re stressed, worried and missing your partner—

“I’m sorry,” he interrupts, incredulity creeping into his voice, “you saying I’m losing it because my boyfriend left?”

“No, not at all. I’m sorry if I made it sound like that. I think you’ve had a very tough time these past few months and you already have a very demanding job that, for better or for worse, adds a lot of danger to your life. You have been injured numerous times ever since you joined Five-0, as you said before.” She gives him a soft smile. “I’m saying that you need a break. You need time to stop, to take a step back and breathe. Time to rest. I don’t think you’re losing your mind, Danny, but I do think you’re overworked and chronically stressed, which amps up your anxiety, and all of this has created the perfect storm for hallucinations to happen.”

He relaxes against the back of his chair and pushes the tip of his tongue against his teeth. He’s so stressed out that he gave himself hallucinations? That’s a new one.

“What kinds of tests?”

“Head scan to rule out organic defects, like say, a tumour or a clot, and a blood test to check the rest of your health. From what you’ve told me we shouldn’t find anything, but since you’ve had a few bumps in the head in the past, I would much rather be sure than regret it later.”

“So, I’m hallucinating. That means what? Antipsychotics?”

“Not in your case, no. Just sleep. I’m prescribing sleep inducers, anti-anxiety medication for at least two weeks and antidepressants for a longer time. To help your brain find balance again, let you relax and rest. I’m adding some anti-anxiety rescue meds as well, but those are just for emergencies, you probably won’t need them, but I would prefer you had them on you, just in case.”

“Wow,” he looks down at his lap, trying to wrap his head around the doctor’s words, “that’s a lot of meds.”

“I know it’s seems like a lot now, but after a month or so, once your sleep schedule goes back to something closer to healthy, you’ll just be taking the antidepressants.”

“Okay. Look, ma’am, I don’t mean to bite my own tail in here, but why not antipsychotics?”

“Because you’re hallucinating due to stress and sleep deprivation, I mean, sure I could prescribe an antipsychotic that could knock you down for a few days on a row, but I don’t think that’s the best course of action. If you manage to rest, rehydrate, eat well for a few weeks, you won’t have them anymore. And most importantly, this is not a symptom of a psychotic break, this are symptoms of a sleeping disorder most likely brought on by stress.”

“Hence the tests to rule out other…” he trails off.

“Yes, sir. Acute on set of hallucinations as you’re about to fall asleep is not the main feature of psychosis and you’re the wrong age for it.”

He nods, noticing for the first time the wall of books behind her, a section clearly dedicated to her own publications.

“And Danny?”

“Yes?”

“I’m recommending you seek counselling from now on, either in-house at HPD or here with me. You can’t let stress get to this point again.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING Expanded: Danny's experiencing hallucinations. He's terribly stressed and preoccupied with these symptoms. So he goes to see a therapist. The first chapter is Danny telling the therapist what's going on.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I have to thank my friend and beta [Ilmare Ilse](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilmare_Ilse), who not only helps keep all the pronouns straight but also keeps talking me into longer and more meaningful scenes. In fact, you guys should thank her as well, because thanks to her, you get a third chapter. In her own words, she's a terrible influence :)
> 
> Do hope you enjoy the chapter, feel free to drop me a line or a keyboard smash <3

It still takes the doctor another twenty minutes to walk him through the diagnosis and initial treatment again. She re-explains the whole concept of sleep hallucinations and how much they do not relate to psychosis; he has to trust her and her wall of books on that.

Then it’s write, print, sign and stamp the prescriptions; she points with the back of her pen to the part where she wrote when he needs to take each pill and which ones are advisable to take with food, though not absolutely necessary.

She also hands him and explains a sheet on sleep hygiene. It basically amounts to no coffee after four in the afternoon. No screens before he goes to sleep. A light supper a few hours before he goes to bed.

Dr Shapiro sets up the follow up appointment in seven days and then helps him shore up his worries and emotions long enough that he can go back to HQ and file his leave, go by the pharmacy to pick up his meds, and then drive himself home and collapse into bed.

He’s a shell of a man by the time he parks on his spot at Iolani Palace.

 

***

 

“Hey, brah, perfect timing,” Kono waves at him as he walks into HQ, fishing her phone from her back pocket and looking down to tap into it. “Chin and Grover just went to get lunch, I’ll call in your— _Danny?_ ” There’s hesitation in her voice once she looks up and takes on his haggard face. His shoulders sag in response. “How did your appointment go? Is Charlie okay?” Kono questions.

He inhales deep, gathering his strength to put her heart at ease, “He’s fine. Still in ICU,” he rushes to say, not wanting to get her hopes up, “still a pretty miserable kid, but you know, alive. Rachel texted me saying he ate his Jell-O today, and asked for seconds,” he holds his fist up in victory.

Kono rubs his upper arm, soothing. “Good to hear that, boss.”

He nods, biting his bottom lip, taking for the first time this day, a moment to savour the good news about his son. _His Son_.

“So,” she continues, bursting through his reverie, “if it isn’t Charlie,” she pauses, giving him a look that’s meant to convey support and care, the one she uses with scared witnesses, “what’s bothering you?”

He sighs; too tired to explain what’s going on and then put it in a semi-coherent order. Instead, he shoves his medical leave papers into her hands and walks past her in the general direction of the coffee maker, pointing towards it to let her know where he’ll be after she’s done reading.

“Danny, wait— _what? Danny!_ ”

He’s not supposed to drink more coffee today (or at all probably, or until he manages to go back to a regular sleeping schedule), but he needs it to get himself to the pharmacy and then to his home; a little pick me up to help him through the day.

Kono’s footsteps round up behind him, into the little kitchenette where the coffee maker is. After loading the machine, he turns it on, almost getting lost in the little humming it does as it brews.

“Danny,” she says, going over the second page, “it says here you’re on medical leave… _for two weeks, brah_!!”

“Yup,” he nods, popping the ‘p’ and invariably thinking of Steve (again).

“What the _hell_?” She asks in a way that demands answers. “You didn’t say you were going to a doctor for yourself, I didn’t know you were sick or something, Danny. I mean, we could’ve taken you.”

“No,” he says, before he can think about what should follow. There’s a pause that threatens to become too long and then he tries to explain himself, “I mean, we have a case, we’re busy. I could do it myself.”

Kono gives him a disappointed look, hand at her hip. She’s not impressed.

“Yeah, don’t give me bullshit lines, boss, what’s going on?”

“Why? What bullshit lines?”

“There’s a case? We’re busy? Like, _seriously?_ _Dude;_ Steve would never let you get away with that if he were here. We’re ohana, man, I expect you to come to me or any of the others when you have a problem or need something. Did they give you something for it? What do you have? You’re not hurt from the raid, right? Because the paramedics cleared you on Tuesday, that’s what you said, that they cleared you—”

“What? No! Kono, _geez_ ; you’re making me dizzy with all these questions. No, I am not hurt from the raid, it’s something different, okay? And, yeah, I have yet to stop by the pharmacy. Jesus, I get you’re good at your job, but please leave the interrogation at the rendition room, okay? Please?”

By the end of their little diatribes, Danny finds himself breathing harshly through his nose, unwilling to give in to the silence and try to fill it with more words and explanations, but still having to stop himself from trying.

Kono looks like she’s about to protest, but at the las moment her face softens a degree or two, and then she says, “So, since you’re apparently not going to ask and you look like you’re about to keel over. Would you like me to drive you to the pharmacy and get you home?”

Danny looks sheepishly at his feet and then at the coffeemaker, which somewhere in the past minute has finished brewing and serving. He nods, making brief eye contact with Kono.

“Good. We’re taking your car,” she turns around and pours half a measure of coffee into a paper cup, adding three spoonfuls of sugar and deftly putting the lid on, “I’ll have Jerry pick me later, once I’m convinced you’re not dying.”

She presses the warm cup into his hands as she exits the kitchenette.

“Are you coming or what?” Her voice already sounds far away, probably from her own office, or Steve’s. “These papers are not going to file themselves and I do need your signature on the log, even if I’ll be the one filling out the forms!”

He sips from the cup and winces at the sugary sludge that covers his tongue. He turns and takes the pot from the machine to add more coffee to the mix.

“ _Danny! Signature!_ ”

Fine, whatever, he’s not driving anymore, is not like he needs the coffee. He leaves the cup behind and drags his feet to Steve’s office. Kono only looks up to hand him the blank forms and a pen. So much for her filling them in.

 

***

 

Once he’s at home, he relaxes a fraction of an inch and sits on his couch, pulling the quilt onto his lap. He’s cold and shivery all the sudden, almost like he’s about to get sick.

Kono leaves the shopping bags on the coffee table and studies him. He can tell she wants to ask half a dozen questions, and then a couple dozen follow-ups, but they don’t really have the time, and Danny’s counting on it to avoid the discussion he knows is coming. Kono had gotten a call when they were in the pharmacy, letting her know a couple of leads had developed on the case, and where was she, because Chin was coming to get her now, now, _now_.

On the street, to his far left he can hear the revving of an engine and the tell-tale Doppler effect of a police siren.

“Chin’s here,” she says, giving him a last chance to say something, maybe even to ask her to stay; because he knows that if he did, she would put the case aside and stay.

“I’ll be fine, Kono. Lots of rest, that’s what the doctor ordered, and precisely what I’m going to do.”

She nods, standing up and putting her game face on, though still not satisfied by Danny’s assurances.

“Call me, okay? I’m worried, I get the feeling you’re not telling me something and I hate to leave you alone when you look like this.”

“Kono,” he goes for soothing, “I’m a full-grown man—” Chin beeps twice outside, from the car, cutting his message short. “I’ll be fine.”

She smiles until her cheeks dimple, adjusting her badge on her belt. “I know you’ll be fine, brah, I just don’t want you alone while you get to fine.” She opens the door. “You would fuss about for me too, and you know it,” she winks at him for good measure. “Call ya later, brah.”

And with that, she’s gone.

 

***

 

First time he wakes up, his phone led-light is blowing up in a rainbow of notifications. He remains coherent for long enough to check how many messages he’s got (too many!) and decides to pre-emptively shoot Kono a text that reads, “ _Still fine. I’m resting. You’re the best_.” He thinks about going to the restroom to relieve himself, but gives up in favour of more sleep. The combination of pills pack enough of a punch that he doesn’t think he’ll be taking full doses again.

 

***

 

Second time he wakes up he feels more with it. Less cold. No shivers. He checks his phone but it’s dead, the battery long drained, to the point it doesn’t even show the charging light for a while after he plugs it in.

He gets up, goes to the bathroom, and avoids looking at himself in the mirror, not wanting to be confronted by his bloodshot eyes. Now, because the universe loves him (not true), he ends up tripping and trying to catch himself on a small shelf over the toilet, hauling every single item in there to the ground with a resounding crash that speaks of nothing salvageable afterwards, including his daughter’s curling iron, which she knows should migrate to her own bedroom after use, but always seems to end up in here, for _some_ reason (“ _Your mirror’s bigger, Danno!_ ”). As carefully as his coordination allows him, he sidesteps the broken glass and other sharp objects, and gets out.

Hugging the wall a bit, just in case, he goes to the kitchen, drinks about a glass of milk straight from the carton and rummages around until he finds something edible that’s somewhat nutritious.

He’s tired still though, it’s like months of sleepless nights have compressed into an iron band pressing around his head and shoulders. It’s a mixture of exhaustion and pain that weighs him down and makes him want to drop to the floor and curl on his side. As he munches on a bag of soft pretzels, he finds a protein bar that most likely belongs to Steve and with a silent apology to him (because even though it’s been a month since Steve left it there, he will remember it one day, try to find it and then be disappointed when he can’t), he unwraps it, eats about a third in one bite, and returns to his bedroom.

He’s not sure when he falls asleep again.

 

***

 

 _“Danno!”_ He wakes up with a start, Steve’s voice still ringing in his ears.

For a second, he panics he’s graduated from visual to auditory hallucinations, but then Steve’s face looms over him and the _little shit_ shakes him by the shoulders, jarring whatever mood he was going to be in, dumping him straight into _insufferable_ territory.

“Steven!” he says, sharply… or rather tries to. His voice is raspy from sleep and it’s hard to even attempt to sit up. He settles for glaring from his pillow as Steve’s face scrunches up into a deep frown that hurts to look at.

“What’s going on?” Steve asks, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Danny takes a second to try and connect his brain back on, until the reality of what he’s seeing hits him. Steve’s here, in Oahu. In his house. In his bedroom. _They can talk, without someone monitoring their calls._ He gets dizzy just thinking about it.

Steve’s in combat uniform still. His hair, spiky and dishevelled, matches the black circles under his eyes, telling a story of lost sleep, early wake up calls and too much work. But he’s here. In the flesh.

_“Danno!”_

Danny looks up to Steve’s eyes again, abruptly, not having noticed he was falling back asleep.

“What? _What?_ Stop saying my name, say something else,” he says, to fill the silence, let Steve know he’s heard him. He also drags his body until he’s leaning against the headboard, lest he dozes off again.

“Seriously? No. _You_ tell me _what_!” Steve puts a knee to the bed and leans forward into Danny’s very personal space, “I called like a dozen times, I went by HQ, I talked with Kono and she said you were sick but you wouldn’t tell her more, and then I find you here? Dead to the world?” He tries to reach into the underside of one of Danny’s eyes, presumably to check his pupils, but Danny just bats his hand away and glares at him. There is far too much movement around, and he’s not truly awake yet. “Danny, the house’s a mess, it’s like a hurricane went through your bathroom, there’s all sorts of stuff on the floor.” He helpfully points into Danny’s ensuite with his extended camo-clad arm.

Danny assimilates the information and squints at Steve.

“You went snooping around my house while I was asleep?” He asks (quite reasonably, if he thinks so himself.)

“It’s not snooping if your boyfriend won’t wake up!” Steve quickly retorts, his voice rising. “Even after I pounded on the door for almost a minute,” he ends, chin up and defiant. Conveniently leaving out the part about how _he broke in_ , because Danny’s sure he doesn’t have the keys to his house in that uniform.

Danny just lets his head thump the wooden board behind him and blows a long breath of exhaustion, feeling the siren call of his comfy bed and the promise of more rest. He’s supposed to be resting in fact, letting his tired brain reorganise itself into healthy sleep cycles.

“DANNY!” Steve snaps his fingers under his nose and Danny’s eyes fly open. He was falling asleep again. “No. No-no-no,” Steve says, turning around and teleporting to his chest of drawers in two strides. “I’m taking you to the ER,” his tone brooks no argument.

“No-no, Steve, don’t.” He already went to the doctor, he doesn’t need a second round, he already has everything he needs right here. Even if one of those _things_ is being rather annoying right now. “Gimme a minute, will ya? You can’t just shake a guy awake and expect him to make sense.” He scrubs his face and sits up fully, this time he doesn’t get dizzy.

“No, nuh-uh, I just shook you awake, you should be filled with adrenaline, not falling asleep again,” Steve pulls a pair of jeans and throws them in Danny’s direction. They land at his knees. “Put that on,” he commands, as he rummages around some more, ostensibly looking for a clean t-shirt.

It rubs Danny the wrong way, he doesn’t like to be told what to do. Much less to be _commanded_.

“Steve, stop. Slow down and let me explain. It’s the meds, okay?”

He might as well have told him there was a live grenade in the room.

“ _Meds? What meds?”_ Steve bellows, making Danny’s brain split in half and his eyes water. 

It still doesn’t deter Steve from his task at hand of getting him dressed and ready. He drops a t-shirt on his lap, followed by clean underwear and socks. Danny pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Babe, can you please slow down and come here? Next to me? So, I can explain?” Steve crosses his arms over his chest, standing his ground. Stubborn animal. “ _Steven_ ,” he says in that special tone he only uses when he needs to stop the madness before the shit hits the fan.

Steve, the lug, shuffles on his feet awkwardly; he must be knackered if his determination has started to crack after only one use of _the tone_.

“What meds are you taking?” Steve asks, soft voiced and fretful.

It must be the way he says it, but for a second all Danny can hear is _“are you going to be alright?”_ so he raises both his arms and beckons Steve to come closer, to sit on the bed and, once Steve acquiesces, he engulfs him in a much-needed hug. Steve embraces him back and lets a sigh out.

“I missed you,” Steve confides, “you had me worried. Can you please…?” He trails off.

“I’m going to be just fine, baby,” Danny croaks, trying to mollify Steve with the required information, “I’m on a cocktail of stuff at the moment. Sleeping pills, anti-anxiety medication and anti-depressants,” he feels Steve tense up under his hands even before he speaks.

“Did you take them all at once?” He asks, wide eyed, putting Danny at arm’s length and searching his face for clues. Danny shakes his head and squeezes Steve’s back comfortingly. “Danno, I tried waking you up, and Kono said she drove you home _yesterday_ , you do realise that, don’t you?”

_Yesterday!_

“What time is it?” He mumbles out, because, _yesterday!_

“It’s ten past nine. Morning,” Steve clarifies, carding his fingers through Danny’s unruly hair. He loves it when Steve does that.

 _Still morning_ , so he’s been asleep for about eighteen hours total.

“D?” Steve encourages him to talk.

“Right. Umm, I’m exhausted, babe,” he answers, looking straight into Steve’s eyes, trying to measure his reaction. He looks calm at least, even if he can sense an undercurrent of thrumming energy, ready to bolt into action. “I’m beyond stressed… And it turns out that if you stop sleeping regularly long enough, your brain comes up with _really_ terrifying ways of getting your attention.” He looks down, trying not to dwell on the sheer panic he had felt at times. Steve’s hand pulls him a fraction closer, showing his support. “The doc still wants to run some tests, just to be sure. Freaky symptoms warrant an MRI… apparently.”

Steve takes the information with the kind of faux composure that makes Danny wonder how he managed in the intelligence community for five-plus years.

“What sort of freaky symptoms are we talking about?”

Danny sighs. And then clears his throat, trying to put some order to his words.

“I, uh, I started having, umm...” he clears his throat again, stretching it one more second.

Steve practically pulsates with worry, which he stoically tries to hide for Danny’s benefit.

Danny rolls his eyes and goes for it. “They’re called sleep hallucinations. They have another fancy name, but I don’t remember. I went to a shrink because I was hallucinating”

“Danny. Jesus.” His hands tighten on Danny’s body, his face acquiring a whiteish pallor that speaks of shock and alarm. “But—how? What do I—Jesus, Danny. I’m sorry this happened to you.”

As Steve’s words wash over him, he can –for the first time since this started—allow himself to let go, to just crumble and let it all out.

He starts trembling from his core out and, before he can think too much about it, he finds himself saying, “I know it’s stupid, but I thought you had been recalled,” he gushes, his voice getting wet as ideas swirl in his head, “and that you couldn’t tell me, because half your life is classified, Steven, and I didn’t know what to do… I… I just, I didn’t know who to call. Here, if something happens, people will talk to me because I’m your partner, but who do I call in the Navy about my _boyfriend_? I have no right to call anyone over there. I was paralysed, but just because I’m frozen in here,” he taps his temple twice with his index finger, “doesn’t mean I can stop outside. I have a kid in hospital who needs me, and Grace… I don’t know what to do about her anymore, and shit just keeps piling up, and I—” He chokes and instead of a word, a sob lets out, and then another, and another.

“Oh, Danno,” Steve holds his face with one hand and drags him impossibly close to himself with the other, “babe _, damn_. I’m sorry. God—I had no idea, I’m so sorry. Come here, babe— _Jesus_ —just come here.” Steve directs him until he’s resting against his shoulder, a hand cupping the vulnerable curve of his nape; the other one stroking his side, soothing. “I’m sorry, babe, I’m sorry. I’m here now, I swear, I’m not going anywhere. I’m not getting recalled, Danno, I’m here. I’m here.” Steve rocks them together a bit, his thighs bunching up under his uniform, the only part other than his chest that Danny can see from his position; he closes his eyes and plasters himself further up against his boyfriend. “I’m sorry, D, I’m so sorry.”

Danny takes a shuddering breath. Tired again. Almost ready to go back to sleep.

“Steve,” he whispers, swallowing thick before continuing, “What are you apologising for?”

Steve chuckles wetly over his shoulder.

“I don’t know, babe; that I wasn’t here for you.” He squeezes Danny harder against his chest. “That I didn’t realise there was something going on when we were talking on the phone. I’m sure I’ll figure out more stuff later, once I have a shower and dinner… well, breakfast.”

Danny takes a deep breath and lets it go slowly through his lips, grounding himself. He pushes slightly back to signal Steve to loosen his embrace. As he does, he considers his boyfriend’s eyes, contemplating the events of the past week and how much it had all been tainted by the shadow of uncertainty: Of Steve, maybe being deployed away from home. Of Charlie’s slow uphill-trek towards health, a certainty that will be impossible to grasp until years later, rejection always looming on the horizon. Of his own constant self-doubting and mounting anxiety. Of Grace’s mood swings that go beyond adolescence and speak loudly of a broken sense of stability. And anger. A lot of anger. As hot and heavy as his own.

“Wanna have pancakes?” He asks, going for nonchalant and missing by a mile. But Steve gets the message. _I need normal right now. Just give me that for a bit._

“Pancakes?” He asks, incredulous, his eyelashes fanning over his eyes. “Now?”

Danny shrugs his shoulders, as if saying, ‘ _whatcha gonna do_?’ Small comforts must be taken as they arise, or created when needed. That’s what Matty used to say, once upon a time.

Steve blinks owlishly at him. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

Trust Steve to double and triple check. “It’s what the doc told me.”

“And the MRI?” He questions further.

“Monday,” he answers, doing quick maths in his head. They have a whole day and a handful of hours until then.

“Monday,” he repeats under his breath. “Alright… Yeah, okay.” Steve relents, stowing the rest of his questions for later, though it’s clear in his tone they will be talking about this way before Monday arrives. “So, _pancakes_? What is it with you and breakfast when you’re high?”

Danny rolls his eyes, swatting him lightly on his chest.

“Fine. Fine. Pancakes it is.”

 

***

Warmth spreads from his belly to his legs and chest. He’s propped up on Steve’s shoulder and back, his arm fitting perfectly on Steve’s waist, and going around to rest on his belly. On his part, Steve’s on his side, nose buried at the back of the couch, hugging about three throw pillows at once and doing snuffling noises that will soon become a soft snore.

Danny’s been dozing on and off for about an hour. After having breakfast, they snuggled on the couch and fell asleep without much talking or communicating beyond comforting touches and meaningful gazes. Steve’s eyes had started drooping and Danny ended untying his boot laces, afraid to remove them completely in case Steve jerked awake and ended up kicking him on the face.

Danny traces Steve’s arms with his eyes, his elbow looks bulky, like there’s a bandage under his long sleeves and he can’t help wonder what happened. He had noticed Steve being careful when lifting plates and flipping the skillet during breakfast preparations, but the priorities had all been set to food consumption, not a physical examination. He needs to ask later.

Steve sniffs against the pillows, quirking his lips and nose. “You’re staring,” he states, eyes still closed and voice scratchy.

“No,” Danny negates, caught in the act, but not willing to give up so soon.

“Yes, you are,” Steve sighs out, his eyelids fluttering open and closing against the light. “I can feel you staring at me.”

“Bullshit,” he teases.

Steve chuckles, turning around with one eye open and the other scrunched closed. It looks kind of uncomfortable.

Danny smiles, deciding to put him out of his misery. “Okay, I was.”

“Mmm,” Steve contemplates his clothes, the pillows, his boots. And turns once again to Danny, eyebrows raised; ‘ _was this you?_ ’ He seems to say.

 _‘Who else, silly?’_ Danny offers back, with a fond smile. And then poses his own question, trying to stretch their time together, talking about nothing.

 “Why did you pierce your ear if you knew you were going into the Navy?”

“What?” Steve grumbles, scratching his face, beard already shadowing his neck and cheeks.

“You heard me,” he presses, scooting closer to Steve.

“Well, I didn’t know _back then_.”

_Camo-pyjamas-clad Steve, and Boy Scout extraordinaire?_

“Yeah, right.”

“Well I didn’t,” Steve insists, “but, I knew I wouldn’t be able to do it afterwards, because work, or college, or whatever, so I took the opportunity when I saw it.”

Even in rebellion Steve had an order of sorts.

“It looks like it needed stitches, babe,” he guesses, squinting at the imaginary pain.

“Yeah, actually I had five stitches in there, intradermic,” Danny’s eyebrows rise in surprise, he always figured the piercing was more like an expansion, but five stitches sound like too much. That many stitches speak of injury not cosmetic repair. “Which are a bitch to pull off in that type of tissue,” Steve adds, memories playing on his face,

“That must have hurt,” Danny comments.

“Yeah well, I was pretty out of it when they did it, I didn’t notice much.”

“Mmm,” _yeah, anaesthesia sounds like a god idea_. “When did you have it closed?”

Steve’s done waking up, sitting up and arranging the pillows and the blanket off the back of the couch. His cheeks are flushed and the line of his hair sweaty. He must be overheating still inside his work uniform.

“What is this,” he asks softly, “twenty questions?”

“No,” Danny denies, going for playful, “I’m just asking… for a friend.”

Steve chuckles, fondness tinging his eyes.

“About three weeks after I had it pierced.”

“Oh,” he yelps, genuinely surprised, “that sounds like a story that ended in tears.”

Steve regards him for a long moment, chewing lightly on his bottom lip. The time for conversation about nothing is over.

“Danny,” Steve says with a solemn tone. “We need to talk.”

Danny sighs. “Babe—”

“Look,” Steve interrupts holding up a hand, “you want to keep some things private, I’m cool. I’m not trying to pry. But at least give me a frame to work with.”

“I’m stressed, Steven, and you –with the questions—isn’t helping. I’m sick, I was hallucinating, what else do you need to know?” Danny rushes out, his body alight, like striking a match.

“Okay, okay. Come here,” Steve rubs his arms. “Relax, okay. I’m on your side, I’m not trying to annoy you, but I’m worried too. Alright?”

Danny’s lips thin out. He doesn’t know where all this prickliness came from, he didn’t mean to jump on Steve like that. His train of thought must have shown on his face, because Steve reaches out and runs his fingers through Danny’s hair, knowing full well the mellowing effect it has on him.

“Steve, can I ask you something?”

“Always, Danno.”

“What were you doing in Germany?” Steve looks like he’s about to deflect the question, so Danny rushes to add, “You said you were doing your drills, but like clockwork you go to Pearl and do your thing, not Germany. And I know you’ve worked out some sort of deal, because everyone I’ve asked—and all over the internet—there’s annoyed wives ranting about a weekend turning into a week, turning into half a month and deployment being the norm rather than an exception. With you all I get are constipated faces every time you rip your uniform... like the one you’re doing now.”

Steve chews on his bottom lip, contemplating what to say.

“It’s—

“Confidential,” Danny completes the sentence, shutting down and taking the corner of the blanket off him, preparing himself to go for a shower and forget he tried to ask.

“No, no, no, don’t do that,” Steve frets and reaches for him, blocking his retreat. “Come on, let me finish. Okay? Just let me… look, in my defence, I was going for complicated. I wasn’t trying—I swear.”

“Fine.” He crosses his arms and levels him with a look.

“Danny,” Steve tuts, “I’m sorry I didn’t explain, the thing is, I was worried too. I was asked to present myself for drills in Berlin, and everyone else on my unit was ordered to either go to a ship or a naval station and I didn’t know what to think. I realise now that not sharing my concerns with you was not the best option.”

Okay, that’s way more than Danny expected from him. In fact, that was sincerer than he knew Steve could be (without having to take the truth out of him with pliers and highly trained operators that is). He lets his face contort into something less severe, and Steve takes it as his cue to resume rubbing his arms and squeezing his shoulder.

“Look, when we decided that this thing between us was serious this time, I made a promise to myself to be more straight with you—well…” He pauses, rethinking that one and smiling despite himself.

They both chuckle, the tension breaking in the room.

“You get what I mean,” he continues, shaking his head. “I’m sorry I wasn’t… clearer, because, uh—without meaning to, I contributed to make your worries a thousand times worse and that is not what I set out to do as your boyfriend.” He finishes with a nod, expectant of an answer or acknowledgment of any sort.

“Okay, who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend, Commander Economy-of-words?” Danny teases, his eyes filling against his will.

Steve smiles tenderly, quirking his lips to the side, going shiny eyed as well.

“I love you, Danno.”

Danny does a kind of quiet laughter, eyes now filled to the brim. “I love you too, babe. Your timing sucks, but I love you all the more for it.”

“I can live with that, come here,” Steve grabs him roughly by his t-shirt and kisses him, short and to the point, though full of emotion. “Shower?”

“Oh, boy, you say the most romantic things,” he teases back, easing his arms under Steve’s and pulling him closer. “Shower sounds great, but first, I need to say something,” Steve’s eyebrows furrow and Danny squeezes one hand lightly, assuring him that there’s nothing wrong. “You still haven’t told me why you were there.”

“Right, umm, let me just—give me a second.” He looks down, collecting his thoughts. “Okay, okay. This is what I can say, I was asked to debrief an operator that was brought in to the hospital at LRMC—

“And for those not up to date with the acronyms?” Danny dislodges his hand from Steve’s side and rolls it in circles, asking for an explanation.  Steve frowns, annoyed; though if by the loss of touch or his interruption, Danny’s not sure.

“Landstuhl Regional Medical Centre.”

“Ah, the _army_ hospital,” Danny clarifies even further, Steve’s face contorts like he’s about to correct him, but at the last second, he lets it go.

“Yes, whatever,” he shakes his head. “I was asked to go there and debrief someone. It wasn’t confidential- _hush-hush_ , but it was on the downlow.”

“Steve,” Danny huffs, “the CIA has a station there, I’m pretty sure there’s lots of people with clearances way higher than yours. So why you?”

Steve dazzles him with his I’m-so-proud-of-you smile.

“That’s the first thing I said.” There’s a congratulatory undercurrent in his tone. “Without going into too much detail, I had to be the one because I had an invaluable knowledge of the players in this op. I spent almost three weeks talking my throat raw, and then writing reports about it.”

“Mmm,” Danny considers Steve’s answer, the knot of worry in his stomach unfurling bit by bit. Still, one more enquiry to go. “And what happened to your elbow?”

“What?” Steve asks, distracted.

Danny squeezes lightly just over the aforementioned joint, confirming there’s a bandage under the clothes.

Steve yelps, getting a dash of red on his cheeks, trying to grab his own arm, but wrapping his hand on Danny’s wrist instead.

“Don’t laugh,” he sulks, “but I slipped on ice and sprained it.”

“Oh, babe,” he exclaims, sympathy tinging his words.

“And I cut it too. There was a glass shard under the snow. It ripped my uniform.”

“Babe,” he coos, knowing full well this is going to turn into a uniform allotment and costs type of rant, and completely revelling in it.

“I had just bought that jacket, Danno,” his boyfriend complains, shucking his boots in one smooth motion and kicking them under the table, working quick and one handed on his jacket.

He smiles at that. Danny hadn’t even realised how much he was yearning for the normalcy of the act.


	3. Chapter 3

The secretary is shuffling papers and stuffing folders inside the cabinet behind her, clearing her desk at the end of the day.

Danny slides a bit further down his seat, letting his knee brush against Steve’s, who’s stiff as a board beside him, and doing a commendable (if too stoic) job of pretending he’s relaxed and nothing but a supportive boyfriend.

The door opens and the doctor comes out of her office, reading glasses in hand.

“Danny?” She holds the door open for him, inviting, “I’m ready for you.”

He nods once in her direction, and then stands up, dumps a magazine on Steve’s lap and covertly squeezes his hand: ‘ _I’ll be fine, babe._ ’ Steve squeezes back and picks up the magazine, accepting the task at hand of distracting himself while Danny’s in session. And with that, MRI results tucked under his arm, Danny goes inside the office.

“Hi—hello,” he says, sticking his hand out to shake the doctor’s. Her hand is warm and comforting. Before she has a chance to say anything, he adds, “I got the MRI results here.”

“Oh, good.” She shows him to the chairs by the desk, accepting the folder with the CD and the technician’s report. “Please, sit down. Have you looked at it yet?”

Danny hesitates at that. The report had come in a sealed envelope, which he and Steve promptly ripped open and read, and then turned to the internet, scouring medical sites for further reading and understanding. Her back had been to Danny when she asked, but as she drops the folder on the desk, she turns around and looks at him. The answer to her question is obvious on his face.

She smiles.

“Alright then, let me read this,” she says, adjusting her glasses. “Structurally sound. No spots, no scarring. Good. _What else_?” She mutters to herself. “Ah, incomplete Circle of Willis, missing a posterior cerebral artery.” She makes a face he’s not sure how to decipher, and then turns to him again and says, “It’s actually pretty normal, Danny, don’t worry, it’s an anatomical variance that doesn’t have a real impact on people. Except for headaches, _sometimes_. Did you have the opportunity to look some information on it? When you read the report?”

Danny smiles, amused, most people would be a little ticked their correspondence got opened before it got to them.

“Yes, Steve and I looked it up on the internet, we got the same out of the Mayo Clinic site, it said it was basically normal.”

“Okay. Good. As I remember from last week you don’t experience headaches often do you?” He shakes his head, and smooths the collar of his shirt, wanting to get to the part where she declares him healthy… _ish_ ; as healthy as he can be under the circumstances. “Okay, come closer then, we’ll look at the slides together,” she says as she pops the CD into the tray.

He scoots his chair closer and she turns the screen so they both can see it, and then starts working the program to visualise his MRI scans. He doesn’t understand what’s he looking at, though the R and his name on the corner help him make sense of where the eyes are, but that’s about it. The Doctor points out his incomplete Circle of Willis, his pristine frontal lobe (he adds ‘pristine’ in his head), and all the rest, mentioning at the end that she concurs with the report.

“Alright Danny, is it okay if I copy the report? For my files?”

“Um, sure.”

“Okay, good, they often throw the file into the CD for us doctors to do just that.” She clicks some more on her computer after that, squinting at the screen as she does it. She finishes by taking the CD out, putting it back into its sleeve in the folder and tucking the written report back in as well, handing the bundle back to Danny.

“That’s done, then.” She puts her computer back to sleep, smooths out her skirt and backs her chair just enough to stand up, showing Danny –much like the first time– to the comfy chairs by the other corner.

Danny follows her and sits down on the same chair he did last time. A week ago, he had been terrified and almost sure that he was going straight to a hospital afterwards, but it had turned out a whole lot better than he expected. This chair might as well have brought him luck and he would be a fool to ignore that.

“Okay, Danny. How are you?”

“I’m…” He hesitates for a second. “I’m okay.”

“Okay,” she repeats, giving him a sly smile. “Define ‘ _okay_ ’, Danny.”

He chuckles, nervous. “Well, you know, I’m not freaking out anymore. I feel… better.”

“Alright. I’ll be more specific; let’s start with the medication. Did you get it?”

“Yes. As soon as I left here—well, no, I went by the office first. And then a co-worker took me by the pharmacy, to pick up the prescription.”

“Oh, a co-worker.” She raises her eyebrows. “Last time I saw you, I was under the impression you did not want other people to know about you.”

“Well yeah,” he says, before he’s done processing her words, and then tries to clarify, “about Steve and me.”

“No,” she shakes her head slightly, “I mean, _anything_ about you; not trivial things, but the important stuff, like being sick and in need of help. I got the impression you wanted to be very much in control over the way other people perceived you when it came to…” she does a flourish with her hand, acquiring a pensive look. “For lack of a better word— _strength_.” There’s a short pause that he’s not sure how to fill, and then she adds, “By all means, correct me if I’m wrong or if what I’m saying doesn’t really make sense to you.” It softens the blow, somewhat.

“You…” he pauses, considering her words, trying them on for size. He thinks about his Ma tutting gently at him for licking his wounds in private, for being terrified of telling her and his Pop he was getting a divorce. “You might _not_ be wrong,” he concedes finally, tapping his knee with his closed fist.

The doctor considers him for a second or two. “Okay, I get the impression I jumped the gun there, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, no. Don’t apologise.” He bites his lower lip. “You caught me off guard is all.”

She taps her pen on her leg, considering him, clearly reassessing her strategy. “Okay, how about we put it aside for now?”

He nods, slowly; knowing in advance that that smart glint in her eye means she will not forget to circle back to it at some point.

“How did the meds work for you?”

“They made me loopy, _very loopy_ , but they also did their work.” He slides further back into the seat. “I slept something like eighteen hours the first day. I was exhausted and really out of it for a while. But it got better after that. Like the next day, it was better already.”

“Does that mean you are less drowsy now, than when you started taking the medication?”

“Yes, I am.” He clears his throat. “I cut down the anxiety medication, though, I only take it in the morning, at night it was too much.”

Dr Shapiro checks her notebook a few pages back and hums to herself. “It’s alright, that one’s only for two weeks, to bring down your anxiety as the antidepressants start to work.” She goes back to the current blank page that’s getting filled with annotations about Danny. “The one I prescribed has anti-anxiety effects too, but it takes a least a couple of weeks to a month to see any effects at all. I’m comfortable with you halving the dose, though. Are you comfortable with it, half of the original dose?”

“Yeah, I think it works better that way.”

“Okay, let’s try it like that for a week and see how it goes. However, I need you to understand that you really shouldn’t stop taking them.”

“I won’t,” he shakes his head.

“So, if you’re uncomfortable with this prescription, we need to discuss it now, because I can’t leave you without anti-anxiety medication just yet.”

“No, it’s fine. I can deal with this one. It’s just for another week, no?”

She leans her head from side to side. “Mm, I can’t really commit to a straight answer here, it could be for a bit more. Depends on when the antidepressant kicks in.”

He frowns and quickly weighs the pros and cons in his head. It’s not like he must work for the next week, and he’s certain his medical leave will grow to complete the month. He has Gracie, but Steve can be there on those days, to make sure his drowsiness doesn’t get in the way. And it’s not like it gets that bad.

“Danny? You with me still?”

“Yeah. Yes, sorry, I got stuck thinking about this. I’m sorry, it’s part of the…” he does a circular motion with his hand.

“Sleepiness?”

“Yeah. I mean, it could be me just being tired and finally slowing down, I don’t know.”

“I could change the type of medication, to a different family. But you already are in the subclinical dosage.”

“No, no. It’s fine, I get sleepy, but it won’t be a problem.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah. I don’t want to sit here whining about the medication, I mean, I’ve slowed down, it slowed me down. So, it’s working, right? It’s working. If it gets to be a problem, I’ll call you.”

“Okay, Danny, you go ahead and do that. Give me a call if something changes.” She makes a notation in her notebook. “How about quality of sleep?”

“Uh, better, definitely better, still a bit restless. Put an elbow to Steve’s face yesterday, actually, but he was a real trooper about it.”

“An elbow to the face?” Her eyes go wide. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he is.” In his mind, he goes back to that night, how guilty he had felt after the fact, fussing over Steve and honest-to-god dropping a bag of ice over Steve’s belly, and not the blue-pack kind, but rather actual ice cubes rolling in bed and finishing the job of thoroughly waking them up at four in the morning. Steve had been more agitated about the ice than the jab to the face.

“I got him in the eye,” Danny says, trying to avoid going into detail, “but it didn’t bruise. He’s had worse, he’s fine. He says so anyway.”

“So,” she says, hanging her pen and notebook over her knees, leaning forward just a bit. “He’s back then.”

“Yeah,” he sighs out, relaxing against the back of his chair, “he is. Safe and sound. For the most part.” She frowns in response.

“Care to elaborate?” She asks, but he waves at her, trying to convey how much she should not worry about it, before he even starts explaining.

“The goof slipped and fell on the ice. Big gash about here,” he lifts his own arm and points to his elbow and upwards. “Ripped his uniform too.” He chuckles, remembering fondly that last rant about the costs of keeping his garments up to regulation.

“You sound relieved, Danny.” She smiles on the face of his gushing. “You look it too.”

He takes a deep breath before answering.

“Yeah, I am. I really am.” He releases the breath. “I don’t know what got into me, but I really thought he was getting deployed, _properly deployed_ this time. It was like a whole weight lifted off my shoulders once he was home.”

She hums and scribbles on her notebook. “I’m glad for you, and I really like how candid you are in describing how it felt for you. Now, question: were you having a nightmare?”

“ _Huh?_ ” He babbles, a bit discombobulated by the change of subject, or rather, going back to the original conversation topic.

“When you woke up and elbowed Steve in the face. Was it a nightmare?”

He shakes his head, going back to the memory of that night. “Uh, I… I don’t know, I don’t remember what it was, I just jolted awake and tried to get off the bed as quick as possible and ended up hitting Steve.”

“Were you scared? Was your heart racing?”

“Yes… and no. It felt like I was scared until before I woke up, but then I couldn’t remember why, I felt like I had all this energy of wanting to do something, or go somewhere, but I didn’t know why, or what to do. And then I was worried for Steve.”

“Okay, it doesn’t sound like something that worried you at the time. Waking up like that.”

“No, no, no. Not at all,” he dismisses with a hand, making sure to convey how fine everything is. “It’s not uncommon for me to toss around in my sleep when I’m having a bad… time.”

“Oh, so you’ve had that happen before, wake up agitated with no explanation?” Dr Shapiro asks, her face inviting to give her details.

“Yeah, not that often. I mean, I _do_ have nightmares. If I wake up is more likely to be from a nightmare, than from something I can’t remember.”

“Okay. And that happens when you’re having a… rough week? Bad case?”

“Sure, you know, stressful… _stuff_.”

“And it’s happened enough that you found a pattern to this?”

He opens his hands in a ‘ _sure, we’ve been down this road, before’_ sort of way.

She gets this intense sort of look and then asks, “I’m going to make a leap here and assume this was happening before the sleep hallucinations started?”

Oh, he gets where this is going now. He reluctantly nods, closing his eyes for a second or two and trying to clear his head of a dozen different self-recriminations.

“Okay, your body language tells me that you see where this is going,” she says a tad apologetic for it. “Am I to assume you wilfully ignored these signs? That the stress was piling up?”

Danny stares at his knees and purses his lips.

Dr Shapiro purses her lips as well and leans closer, dropping her voice to a tone that speaks of patience and care above all else.

“I’m not trying to get you to a _gotcha_ moment, but you strike me as a very intelligent and responsible man, when I look at you and talk with you, I get the feeling you know yourself very well, so I’m asking to better understand what happened. How come this time you put your knowledge of yourself aside and kept going even when you knew something wasn’t quite right.”

Danny chews on his lips, folding them over his teeth and releasing. He understands what the doc’s saying, but beyond the fact that a lot of shit got dumped on his head, and as soon as he thought he could get a breath of fresh air, another pile of steaming crap covered him again, he doesn’t really have an answer. At the time, he sincerely thought that if he kept his head down and worked hard enough, it would eventually get better.

“I guess I thought it would get better eventually,” he says, shrugging his shoulders and hating the ingenuity of his answer. How stupid it makes him feel.

“Is that what happened other times?” The doctor asks, true curiosity in her voice, matching the ingenuity of his own answer, except that when she says it, he doesn’t feel any of the ridiculousness he had felt before. It makes him feel like he didn’t screw up so bad after all. “At some point the issues resolved themselves?”

“Well, no, not themselves. Some of them needed my input, some didn’t. Some others just needed to be lived through.”

“Is that what you were trying to do then? Live through it?”

“I guess… yeah,” he says, a thought coalescing in his mind. He scrubs his thighs, suddenly energised. “No, you know what? That’s _exactly_ what I was trying to do. I thought, what the hell, you know, I need to be there for my son, who doesn’t understand why I’m suddenly his daddy too, and he was in an out of hospital for pre-op tests. And now—today even–, he’s battling his way back to a normal childhood. He’s still in the ICU, and I thought—” He stops. His eyes prickle and his throat constricts, suddenly hard to swallow against all that raw grief. “I thought I needed to keep working as hard as possible, to just make it through the day, make sure all my stuff was in order, so I could be there for him, and keep to a regular visiting schedule. I wasn’t thinking about myself, I was thinking about him and only him.”

When he ends, there are tears dripping from his chin. But his throat, though still constricted, feels lighter than before. It’s a different kind of grief than when he started.

“You were thinking about him and only him,” she echoes back, dislodging a stray sob out of Danny; finding it hard to hear his own words recited back to him. He wipes his tears again, and sniffles back into composure, grounding himself. “Danny, did you receive counselling at the hospital, on account of your son? And the procedure you had to go through?”

“No, ma’am,” he says and then clears his throat, trying to make it back to normal. “If I wanted to, then I had to pay for it, because I’m not legally related to Charlie, so it’s not covered by my or his mother’s insurance. In the end, I waived it, I figured my money was better spent elsewhere.”

“You were thinking about Charlie’s sake there too.”

He nods.

“Have you ever heard about the protocol for oxygen masks on a plane? When the cabin is depressurised and the masks drop from the ceiling?” She asks in a calm soothing voice.

He nods again and wonders where this is going.

“Okay, here’s the thing, when you read the pamphlet on the plane, it always says that should you oversee a child or someone who needs help putting their mask on, you should put your own mask first, and then help others.” He pauses, giving his eyes a long soul-searching look. “If you do it the other way around you will succeed in that task, but by the time you turn to yourself, you might pass out from oxygen deprivation and since the other person couldn’t do it for themselves, won’t be able to do it for you either. You’ll die from asphyxiation. In the parent’s effort of helping their children first and foremost, they have made their children parentless.”

It dawns on Danny that he already knows this, in theory anyway. He knows he’s the responsible one, the one who knows better, the one with the answers. And it’s such a difficult job. Such a heavy responsibility. It weighs him down: the three years of not knowing he should’ve been looking out for Charlie as well. It slices him thin and deep into his chest, making him clench his jaw, though if in anger or sorrow, he doesn’t know.  

“When something happens that affects your family unit,” the doctor continues, “you should always put your own mask first too, help yourself, make sure you’re in shape of helping others. Sometimes, in the heat of the moment, is hard to think beyond the big hurdle: ‘ _my child needs to breathe’_ , but as a person responsible for them, you also need to keep in mind that there’s life beyond the hurdle, and you need to survive to make sure you children survive.” She pauses again, giving Danny time to process. “Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

He nods, scrubbing his eyes. “Yeah, I do. It’s hard to think like that in the heat of the moment, though, but I get it. Can’t do much for my children by running myself haggard.”

“No, you definitely can’t. Self-care is just as important as taking care of your children.” She pauses after that, adjusting the rim of her glasses and the hem of her skirt over her knees. It feels like she’s trying to give him a small pocket of privacy, which he’s thankful for. And then she says, “I’m sure that with the appropriate guidance you can find better ways to go at it. If you’re interested.”

It’s a lifeline of sorts. One he needs to decide for himself if he’s willing to take.

“Yes. I could use a change of pace.”

“Good. _Good_.” She smiles at him. “Let’s go back to quality of sleep, Danny. How many hours would you say you’ve been sleeping for the past week?”

“Uhm, around five. It’s not as hard to fall asleep, but I wake up pretty early. _Still,_ five hours in one go, _geez_ , it feels like a luxury.”

“Okay, good, that means the sleep inducers are doing their job, as the antidepressant starts to work, your sleeping patterns should get better. Have you experienced headaches, nausea, dizziness…?” He tries to recall anything, but he knows he’s been lucky in that department, there’s nothing he can think of. “How about a dry mouth?”

“Oh!” He perks up. “Yes! I keep drinking water—but it’s not bad, I only noticed because I was complaining and Steve pointed out it could be a side effect.”

“Alright,” she says as she scribbles on her notebook, “it should go away after about a month of taking the medication, however, you say it’s not bad, so hopefully it will go away sooner than that. If it gets to be too much, chew some sugarless gum, that should help.”

“Okay. I can do that,” he agrees, it doesn’t seem like much of nuisance.

“Alright. So, to recapitulate, clean MRI: structurally sound, except for one anatomical variance that has no bearing over your current symptoms. Dry mouth as a side effect from the medication, though at this point it’s unclear which one of them does it, because it’s a side effect for all of them,” she levels him with a look, letting that sink in, like a warning that it might get worse before it gets better. He keeps thinking he got lucky, though, he had been crossing his fingers about the constipation one, hoping against hope he wouldn’t get it.

“On the plus side,” she continues, “you’ve slept better this week, a bit longer, but most importantly without interruption.”

“Yes.”

“Okay, then, how about the hallucinations? Any lights I should know about?”

He smiles broadly at that, practically beaming. “None, ma’am.”

“Excellent!” She scribbles quickly on her notebook. “Nonetheless,” she gives him an apologetic smile, “this is not full victory yet, you could still have a sleep hallucination, until your brain chemistry hasn’t stabilised it could still misfire here and there. Just remember, as long as it happens as you’re about to fall sleep, or when you’re waking up, it’s a sleep hallucination. Actual technical names vary a bit, but in both cases, they’re basically harmless, I still want to know if it happens, but it does not constitute an emergency. Okay?” She looks at him over the rim of her glasses.

“Okay.”

“Alright, we’re about done here, Danny. Any questions so far?”

He gives it a couple of seconds thought, just in case he has something to add.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Okay, it’s fine.” She straightens in her chair. “Before you go we need to settle something, though, I would like to know if you’ve given any thought to my recommendation of seeking psychotherapy, to work on your stress levels and how to handle them.”

“Oh, I—” He chokes on his own word. Caught between lying and deflecting.

He’s thought about it, but not with the part of his brain that can translate it into words, and then he thought about it again when he pretended not to hear Steve asking if the doc had recommended any sort of therapy beyond medication. Steve had been tight-lipped an entire afternoon after that.

“You haven’t thought about it, have you?”

Danny sags in his chair. “No, not really.”

“Alright, let’s think about it now. How about that?”

Danny nods and bites the tip of his tongue, trying to figure out what to say.

Francine gives him a tender look, akin to the kind his Ma gave him after he kept messing up the same part of his lines for the 4th grade play.

“What don’t you like about the idea, Danny?”

It’s not irritating per se, how well this woman can read him, but it does piss him off that it’s so obvious for her what he spends hours and hours debating with himself. He doesn’t want to do the talking part of his treatment, he just wants to get better.

 “What I don’t… well for starters I don’t want to whine about my problems once a week, how’s that going to help me? Huh? What’s the point? You know? And I—I don’t have the time, or the energy, to drag myself and Steve here every week for what? A year? I need to be with my kids, that’s the only thing I need to do, and work, because even though it drives me insane—and Steve drives like an animal on steroids half the time—I need my job because it’s the only thing I can do that I know will go well all the time—okay, no, not all the time, but like ninety percent of the time. I can live with ninety percent…” he trails off, not really proud of his little monologue and losing steam fast.

“Mmm,” the therapist seems to reflect on his words, “I’m going to put aside some of the things you said, and focus on how therapy can help. Talking from experience —observed and otherwise— therapy makes people feel… _lighter,_ a weight off their shoulders, and that tends to help with sleeping. As a general rule, being well rested facilitates many tasks during the day because it leads to better concentration and a healthier life in general. I’m thinking only about the stress relief, though, it has many other benefits.”

Danny chuckles, surprised by the candour of her words, he had expected a long list of statistics and a whole speech on law enforcement burnout. Dr Shapiro smiles in return, right before she gets what Danny’s come to recognise as her ‘ _focused on you’_ look.

“On a more serious note, is that how you felt today? Like you just ‘ _whined’_ for an hour in front of me?”

He wrinkles his nose. “No, I didn’t. It didn’t even cross my mind.”

“Oh, good,” she smiles again, “I wouldn’t have done my job very well if you had felt like a burden while we were discussing your experiences.”

“A burden?” He echoes, crossing his arms in front of his chest, feeling a change of pressure inside his chest. “Why a burden? I didn’t think-a burden, huh?” His heart leaps and thuds, in a race against— _What?_ He’s not sure. “So, what you’re saying is that if I say I _whine_ about things then it must mean I’m a burden? That’s—that’s—”

“Danny,” the doctor calls his name, cutting him off, “you’re rambling. Slow down.”

He’s thankful for the interruption, feeling suddenly over exposed and too vulnerable.

“What happened?” She asks.

“I don’t know,” he huffs, annoyed with himself, his heart doing one last somersault.

“Okay, let’s figure it out. I get the impression the word ‘ _burden_ ’ was important for you?”

Danny shifts at the edge of his seat, unable to answer either way.

“Let me rephrase. You got stuck on that word, and that makes me think it’s important somehow, that it means something to you?” Danny shrugs, not wanting to say anything back but still wanting her to go on. “What did you feel?”

“I… umm.” He uncrosses his arms and scrubs a hand on his thigh. “For a fraction of a second I felt like I was falling, I can’t explain it.”

“Okay, I understand. Did you feel anxious? Or scared?”

He runs his tongue over his lips. “Yeah, I guess I did, I started thinking about what you said, and I remembered last week when I came here and I don’t know, it all rushed back in, I guess.” For that microsecond, a huge pitfall had opened within and he had been terrified of what was going to happen.

“How do you feel now?”

“Like I’m not falling? I don’t know, it was weird.”

“Doesn’t happen often then?”

“No, not at all.”

She adjusts her skirt and slides further back on her seat. “Okay. Sit back, Danny, take a deep breath and let’s try to look at this again.”

He does as he’s told. As he exhales he says, “Okay.”

“Okay,” she repeats, “I remember when you first came, one of the reasons you were distraught about what was happening to you, was that you thought you were going to become a burden for your children. Do you remember that?”

“Yes, I do.” He nods, running his tongue inside his cheek to the corner of his mouth.

“Okay, do you see a connection there?

“A connection? You mean like what? Like I don’t want to be a burden for my children and then suddenly I freak out at the word? No, no, I can’t.” He grumbles, frustrated.

“Okay, Danny, look, I know you’re tired, we’ve been here for just over,” she checks her watch, “forty minutes, and you’re sleep deprived, and you just experienced a surge of panic. I know I’m asking a lot of you today. So how about I just tell you what I think?”

Danny forces himself to relax against the back of his chair and takes another deep breath. He hadn’t realised he had basically lashed out at the doctor.

“I’m sorry, ma’am.”

“It’s fine, Danny,” she leans over and raises a hand that’s meant to smooth over the incident. “Like I said, I’m asking a lot out of you and we’re just getting to know each other. I can’t read you very well yet. It’s fine.”

Danny licks his lips. “Okay, I’m sorry anyway. Please tell me what you think.”

She smiles reassuringly at him before saying, “I think that you shy away from anything and everything that makes you feel like somebody else will have to take care of you. Which in turn makes me think of today, when I said that perhaps you don’t like to be perceived as lacking strength?” Danny clears his throat, and then nods for her to go on. “Well, talking about your problems could feel a lot like whining when you’re not used to letting others take care of you.” She levels him with a look, steady and comforting. “What do you think? Does it make sense to you?”

Danny swallows thickly and nods.

“Is it too awful? What I’m saying?”

“No,” he croaks.

“But it’s still hard to think about, because it means… what? That you might have a right to be heard as much as you hear others? To be taken care of as much as you take care of others?”

He sniffles and takes a deep breath, composing himself. His first knee-jerk reaction is to say ‘ _I’m not that important’_ or ‘ _I’m an old man, and a divorcé, who’s gonna care about me’_ , but that would be so unfair to so many people right now. To his children. His ohana. _Steve_.

The doctor is right, painfully so.

“Did you feel pressured to talk with me? In here? Today?” He shakes his head. “Did you feel in any way offended or dismissed by me today?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Did you feel, at any point, like you were troubling me with your thoughts and ideas today?”

The corner of his lips tug upwards, catching up to where this is going.

“No, ma’am,” he answers truthfully.

“Well, Danny, this is what therapy is. You talk, I listen, we respect each other, then I talk a bit too. The main general objective is that you feel better.” She levels him with a look and he nods in response. “Was it terrible?”

He chuckles wetly. “No, ma’am.”

“Good, it’s not supposed to be. Some days are harder than others, sometimes we do touch on very sensitive subjects, but those are never the majority.” He nods, sobering up to the idea that he will be in fact starting therapy and definitely with this woman.

“What we also do, therapists I mean, is help you widen your perspective of any given situation you want to bring into the session.” He hums in response, letting that information sink in. “It’s also about making new connections, sometimes situations in our lives that we thought had nothing to do with each other, turn out to be connected somehow.”

Danny nods and hums again. It makes sense.

“So, now that you’ve thought about it. What do you say?”

He looks down at his lap and refrains from twiddling his thumbs. He looks back up.

“Yes.”

“Okay, good. I’m glad you’re giving it a chance, I’m sure it was not easy to decide. Now this is going to sound odd, but I need to know if I’m referring you to a colleague or not.” She chuckles in a self-deprecating way. “Which is a very roundabout way of asking, do you want to continue with me?”

Danny smiles broadly at that.

“With you, ma’am, definitely you.”

“Alright, good, that’s settled then. I’ll see you next week, same time?”

Danny nods.

“Okay, anything else you would like to add or change about today’s session?”

Danny does a quick summary in his head of all that happened and was talked about for the past hour.

“No, everything’s okay.”

“If you had to pick a moment or a line of today’s session that you could take home with you, what would it be?”

Danny closes his eyes, immediately going back to the moment when he realised he had a veritable troop of people standing behind him, willing to take care of him if needed. Even if it feels funny, that something he thinks he should remember more often.

His pause must have been too long, because the doctor clears her throat and says, “can you share?”

He clears his throat as well.

“When I realised I was more valuable than I had thought in the beginning.”

The doctor raises her eyebrows and nods thoughtfully.

“What a great moment to take back home.”

“Yeah,” he looks longingly at Steve in his mind’s eye, nodding in agreement with the doc. “It is.”

Dr Shapiro closes her notebook and puts it aside, signalling their time is over.

“Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah,” he says, and stands up as the doctor stands with him, waiting for Danny to gather his things and himself before opening the door.

As he goes out, they shake hands and she gives him a smile he can only describe as proud, he gives her a half-hearted grin in return, but it’s enough to put him at ease with his decision.

When he turns around he immediately locks on Steve’s worried eyes as he fumbles with the magazine Danny left him with. _Yeah_ , he made the right call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, just in case, Francine Shapiro happens to be a real person and I used her name because I was reading her book at the time and now I'm afraid that people looking for EMDR techniques will land on my fic *head-desk*
> 
> That being said, thank you all for reading, and for your patience, this fic totally ran away from me, Danny had a lot to say and I just had to follow the main character in their journey. I feel like a lot more could be written in this "universe", but I think I've already managed to put Danny in a really bad place and extricate him from it, with good prospects for the future. 
> 
> Finally, a huge hug and thanks to my friend [Ilmare Ilse](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilmare_Ilse/), for taking the time to beta and smooth out plot points. All your help is much appreciated <3


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